


Cocoa Coins

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Sugar Daddy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:48:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto needs cash; a stranger online should be good for that.
Relationships: Prompto Argentum/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 101
Kudos: 411





	1. Nautical

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Yeah I already did two WIPs pretty much just like this, what about it? Rating is for the future.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

University’s friggin’ _expensive._

Maybe he should’ve just gone with a college. He still doesn’t fully understand the difference anyway. He should’ve picked somewhere small and _cheap_ , instead of going for the program he wanted most, because that program comes with a plethora of fees he just can’t keep up with. He has an email from his father open in one tab asking if he needs more money, and Prompto forces himself to lie through his teeth and type out that he doesn’t. His parents are gone all the time, but they still do _so much_ for him. They raised him, after all. They love him. They try to give him everything he asks for, but he knows they’re hardly rolling in dough, and he can’t ask for any more. He sends the email off and clicks back to his account at Insomnia’s top university where the next semester’s fees are printed in big red letters. They don’t even include all the supplies he’ll need. He spent every last bit he had just getting a camera that met the basic requirements for his course. He tells himself that one day, when he’s a big, famous, world-renowned photographer, it’ll all be worth it. It’s just hell in the meantime.

He stretches back along the couch, slumping down into the cushions. The laptop’s warm in his lap, already over-heated, the internal fan whirring loudly as it tries to compensate. That’s outdated too, like everything else he owns. But he can’t afford a replacement—rent’s due in a week. Sometimes he really wishes he hadn’t told his parents it was okay to sell their apartment. His own is twice as small and falling apart. But they’re gone ten months out of the year, so it just didn’t make sense for them to pay for real estate in the city. He should probably see if he can find somewhere even cheaper to live. Maybe somebody’s got a broom closet for rent somewhere.

He opens a new tab, and before he can even type anything in—he wants baby chocobo gifs: he needs a pick-me-up—the browser suggests the job board he’s been browsing every day. He begrudgingly pulls that up instead and scrolls through a dozen posts for things he’s either not qualified for or couldn’t stand doing. He doesn’t even pray for photography jobs anymore. They’re just too far and few between to count on. He needs something regular.

A few minutes later, he’s giving up and back to his email. A new one’s come through from a high school buddy he occasionally plays blitzball with. It was a good way to stay in shape before, but between one-off gigs and classes, he hasn’t managed to play lately. The header’s just a laughing emoticon, which is typical Tidus. The email’s going to be a joke, because they always are—the most real Prompto’s ever gotten with his not-quite-friends/occasional-acquaintances is bemoaning his broke-ness. Sure enough, the email’s just a link, and when Prompto clicks, it redirects him to a website that’s very clearly for sugar daddies. It has a typical stock image of an older male model in a fancy house, piles of cash sitting everywhere. A number of different headlines boast the merits of signing up, and a big red button shouts: _Sign up for FREE!_

There’s a long moment where Prompto just stares at the page. His situation’s more desperate than he’s let on—he’s not in a place where he can just send Tidus back a ‘lol.’ He doesn’t answer it at all, which is fine, because they’re not close anyway. While he’s wallowing, the image swipes over to a bunch of scrolling testimonials from happy clients. The word ‘tuition’ seems to leap off the digital page in several places. Prompto would hardly be the first broke student. Then it swipes to a collage of significantly older people with young supermodels. Prompto’s stomach churns. He doesn’t look like that anyway. No one’s going to pay him for anything. 

It doesn’t matter. He closes the tab, telling himself he’s not _that_ desperate.

* * *

A week later, he’s that desperate.

He started at a convenient store, was up all night on his portfolio for class, slept in when he should’ve been at work and got fired within a record forty-eight hours. There haven’t been any decent job postings since. Plus his teachers keep pushing him to get a better camera, and he really, really wants one, but _can’t_. And he’s not going to drop out. He’s just not. 

He re-opens the email, clicks the link, makes himself read through the wall of text in the Terms of Service and makes an account. He can’t think of a cool enough username and figures whoever he gets with is going to see his bank information anyway, so he just uses his real name. He tells himself it’s like a dating site. Except it’ll get him through university. 

He spends forever making his profile. He frets over every little sentence and takes around fifty photos before finally getting five shots good enough to post. They’re all with his clothes on, even if maybe they shouldn’t be. He tries to smile in them but mostly just looks exactly as nervous as he feels. There’s a button to check for whether or not he’s offering sex—complete with an asterisk to a paragraph explaining that he’ll likely get far more if he clicks it. That takes him the longest time of all. But he leaves the box empty. Maybe it’ll get him less money. But he just... can’t.

The profile goes live. He frantically pours over it again and corrects two typos. The site starts sending him messages with possible matches he should check out, and he does, but they all make his skin crawl just to look at. He’s full of regrets. 

He gets a message from a ‘Seymour’ bluntly asking if he wants to meet up. Prompto doesn’t answer it. He takes one look at Seymour’s weird open robe profile picture and slams the laptop shut. He’s going to have to drop out, and he knows it.

* * *

He gets a dozen messages from the site. They all either want to meet up immediately or have creepy pictures or creepier introductions. And then, out of the blue, he gets one that just says _Hey_ , from a profile pic of a sleek black chocobo. 

Prompto pauses. The pot starts steaming, and Prompto rushes back to the other side of the kitchenette, quickly dumping in his pasta and turning the burner way down. When he returns to his phone, there’s nothing else. Just that _Hey._

It’s simultaneously the least scary and least helpful message he’s gotten yet. Prompto still hesitates before opening the chocobo’s profile. It’s just a bigger picture of that chocobo. Five pictures are required for the site, but the other four are screenshots from various games. Which is weird, but piques Prompto’s curiosity. Three are from King’s Knight. His favourite game _ever_. The fourth he doesn’t recognize. The fifth is Sora in Naminé’s cocoon—a game Prompto _adores_ but thought he was wholly alone in. The profile name is ‘Naught’, like naughty or maybe a shortened nautical, and there aren’t any boat pictures, so Prompto figures naughty. Naught’s profile says he’s a man between twenty and two-hundred. It also says he won’t be sending pictures of himself, but as he won’t be meeting anyone in person, it doesn’t matter. 

Likes chocobos. Likes video games. Doesn’t want to meet in person so can’t ever touch him. It’s pretty much perfect. Weird, but perfect. Prompto can do weird. It takes him a few seconds to figure out what to answer, but he wants to answer.

While he’s thinking, he gets another message from Seymour that’s just a dick pic, complete with blue pubes. Suddenly, Naught looks a lot less weird. After blocking Seymour, Prompto answers, _Hey._

There’s a pause. _What’s up?_

Prompto blinks at the phone. That’s so... generic. But to be fair, he doesn’t know what he’d do for an opening line. He glances at the timer on the stove and answers, _Making dinner._

The little ellipses pop up, showing that Naught’s typing. Prompto waits for Naught to suggest that he come over and make dinner for Naught, but then remembers that, apparently, Naught doesn’t actually want to meet his sugar baby. Although he could always ask Prompto to send dinner in the mail. Which would be bizarre but hilarious to try.

_What’s for dinner?_

_Noodles._

_Like cup noodles or pasta?_

_Pasta._

The conversation’s so... nothing. Just to not leave it at a one-word answer, Prompto adds, _But I like cup noodles._

_Cool. Me too. But I’m glad you said noodles, because those take longer to cook, right?_

That’s Prompto’s first clue—that Naught’s not sure pasta takes longer to make than cup noodles. He must be so rich he’s never had to cook before in his life. Maybe that should be intimidating, but for some reason, the naivety just makes Prompto smile. He confirms, _Yeah. Ten minutes left._ Although, he doesn’t know why that matters.

Naught tells him. _Great. Because I am in desperate need of someone to play King’s Knight with. It shouldn’t take long to download. I’ll give you a thousand if you can beat me._

Prompto _stares_. A thousand dollars. To play an app he plays daily anyway. He’s practically shaking as he answers, _I already have it. I’m level 46._

_59\. You stand no chance._

Prompto flounders for an answer and just sends: D,:

He could’ve really used a thousand dollars. A King’s Knight friend code comes through anyway. Another glance at the stove, and Prompto switches over to the game. He enters it in, and just like that, he’s in party mode with Naught. Naught has the same screen name as the sugar daddy site, though Prompto’s is PromPom. Close enough. The game starts up, and immediately, Naught’s kicking _ass._ It’s totally not what Prompto expected from a sugar daddy.

None of it is. But a thousand dollars is a great place to start changing his mind. He figured it would just be gifts and stuff he’d have to sell off, but cash will pay the bills nicely. And he _loves_ King’s Knight. It doesn’t take long for him to be straining against Naught’s high score just because it’s _fun_. It’s a struggle to keep up with him, but the best kind. 

Prompto overcooks the pasta. Then he has to try and drain it with one hand and pour in canned sauce, because it’d be too hard to make fresh sauce whilst gaming. He keeps gaming anyway. There’s a limited chat function outside of missions that makes it feel like they’re still talking, even though they can only select so many options. Naught finds pretty creative ways to use his, and Prompto can practically feel his frustration when Prompto finally overtakes him. 

A few bites into his pasta, while chewing’s distracting him, and he loses his lead. Naught _destroys_ him. Prompto’s game for another round, but Naught doesn’t seem to be putting in the right code on his side—it drags on the setup screen. 

A notification pops up from the sugar daddy site. _That_ chat isn’t limited. Naught asks, _Your noodles burnt yet?_

Prompto’s tempted to tease that that’s not how it works. But he’s in a surprisingly good mood despite having soundly lost. And lost money. At least he got to blow off some steam. He needed that. He thinks of saying the pasta’s delicious anyway, because obviously it’d be in his best interest for his sugar daddy to think he’s a good cook. Even though this one probably has his own professional chef, if not a whole kitchen staff. Because they’ve been gaming long enough for him to loosen up, Prompto devolves to more emojis. _You beat me ;A;_

_No beatings til the second date. ;)_

Prompto blinks. Another message shoots through: _Shit. That sounded awful. I’m sorry._

_I’m not some crazy violent creep, I promise._

_I’d never hit you. I’m not into that. It was a joke._

_...Fuck, I’m just digging this hole deeper, aren’t I?_

Prompto almost snorts up a mouthful of pasta. Fucking up a text and then scrambling to fix it is something _he_ would do. With a stir of pity, Prompto types back, _Lol, it’s cool. I got it._

There’s a long stretch during which Prompto gets to eat a few more forkfuls. It gives him a chance to wonder what kind of screening the sugar daddy site does on the ‘daddy’ side—do they actually check the person’s income? Dating history? Criminal record? Prompto had to give his own bank information, so he figures there has to be some kind of credentials involved. But Naught just doesn’t seem like the kind of old rich dudes they’d want to be recruiting.

Finally, Naught sends, _Then... can I talk to you again sometime?_

Prompto answers startlingly quickly, _Yeah. Let’s do a rematch._

_Okay. I’ll let you eat dinner, then. Nice talking to you._

_You too._

Despite his initial reservations, Prompto sort of hopes for more. But the next message he gets is a transaction: a thousand dollars transferred to his account. He stares at it for a few seconds before switching back to the chat: _But I lost!_

_Yup. But you actually tried to beat me. I definitely feel more like a winner tonight than I have in a long time._

Naught adds: _In more ways than one. ;)_

_Welp. That sounded creepy again._

_I meant because of meeting you._

_Shit, that sounds worse..._

Another transaction notification. Another thousand. Before Prompto can recover, Naught ends: _Okay. Bye_ , and his icon goes grey, signaling that he’s logged off. Prompto’s alone. With two grand. Two thousand tax free dollars. And all he had to do was let some adorably bad texter beat him at King’s Knight. 

Prompto’s all in.


	2. Justice

Naught’s... actually pretty cool. He’s played almost every game Prompto’s ever owned, although he often complains that he doesn’t have the time to play as much as he’d like—it sounds like if he had his way, he’d do nothing _but_ game. And sleep. Prompto learns early on that evening conversations will often end abruptly, only for apologies to blow up his phone in the morning, because Naught’s basically a cat. He could fall asleep anywhere. Any time. And he likes fishing, but he doesn’t seem put out at all when Prompto says he’s never been. Prompto probably _would_ go with Naught to a secluded fishing spot outside of town, but Naught turns him down. 

Naught pays for all the giant text books that shouldn’t be necessary for a photography course but somehow are. Prompto gets the payment when he’s on the bus, along with: _Anything else?_ But Prompto’s already floored because the books are _so_ expensive. Like the new Kingdom Hearts DLC, which Naught just bought him. And the fancy new headset. And the monthly King’s Knight pay-to-play bonus. Squished into a seat near the back, Prompto types out a gushing, _Thank yooou!_

_No prooob._

Prompto almost laughs out loud. An older woman looks over at his infectious smile, and he ducks his head, embarrassed but glowing. He didn’t used to be the sort of person that had to be glued to his phone at every moment, public transit rides included, but now he whips out his phone even more than his camera. It’s not that he _has_ to. Naught never asks for anything in exchange—not even conversations. Those just come naturally. Prompto was so sure a sugar daddy would be pushy about compensation—and a lot of messages he gets from other strangers on the site still are. But Naught’s just... Naught. 

Prompto’s sure to tell him, _Seriously, I appreciate it. When I become the biggest photographer in Eos I’ll totally make sure they mention you in my hall of fame bio._

_‘He was the best photographer that ever lived, all thanks to his sugar daddy.’ Wow, your grandkids will be so proud. XD_

_I was gonna credit you as my wickedly handsome and ingenious mysterious fairy godmother, but okay we can just put daddy. Gotta pay you back somehow. ;)_

_Well, if you gotta, I guess you could read the books out to me. That should get me my money’s worth._

Prompto bites back another chuckle. It might actually make poring through them more bearable if he could read them out to someone, but somehow he doesn’t think Naught _actually_ wants to group read some text books from an obscure subject he’s probably not interested in.

Prompto doesn’t know what Naught _is_ interested in. School wise, that is. If he’s rich, which he obvious is, he probably did go to university, but Prompto has no idea which subjects he went for. Maybe it was all dry business stuff. Or math and politics or something even worse. Or maybe he’s a genius that started his own company straight out of high school. Prompto doesn’t ask. He gets the impression that half the reason Naught signed up for a financial relationship site instead of regular online dating is that he doesn’t actually want to share any personal information. At all. And when Prompto’s getting paid, he can hardly complain that he doesn’t know the face behind his checks.

He’d like to. He can’t help but picture Naught with a nice face. Maybe he’s suave and tall, with big, broad muscles, and the sort of eyes poets write about. Or maybe he doesn’t conform to any traditional beauty standards at all and he wants to flirt with someone without worrying they’ll think he’s ugly. 

He asks, _You home yet, btw?_

_Nope. On the bus. Killin’ time. Checkin’ out all my fancy new textbooks._

_Seriously, don’t worry about it. You’re worth it._

Maybe that should be creepy. Because Naught doesn’t really _know_ him. But Prompto kind of feels like Naught is really starting to. Maybe it’s just his childhood low self-esteem rearing its ugly head, but it feels _good_ to have someone say that to him. Even a stranger. 

He’s still smiling wide as he types out, _You spoil me._ Not just with textbooks. With everything.

_I like having someone to spoil._

Someone. Just one. A part of Prompto was wondering if maybe there were others. Naught seems to have plenty of cash to go around. And the site doesn’t say anything about having to be exclusive. Not that he’d need exclusivity. It’s not like they’re really _dating._ Prompto still finds himself tentatively typing, _I bet you say that to all your sugar babies._

There’s a pause before Naught answers, _’Fraid it’s just you in the harem right now. Want me to start filling it out more?_

_Pfffft_

Prompto doesn’t at all want it to start filling out more. Even if it didn’t impact how much money he got, it might impact how often Naught would ask for King’s Knight games. And how much they’d just _talk_.

Realistically, Prompto’s not that much better at texting than Naught is. He doesn’t have that many friends. He gets real too soon and sends: _You could get a lot though. You’re pretty charming._ Then he regrets it and rereads it, hoping it comes off light and joking instead of the deep-seated complement it is. 

It takes uncannily long for Naught to answer, _You know we just talk about games and dreams and what’s for breakfast and shit, right?_

Maybe that’s supposed to be self-deprecating. But Prompto’s grinning and doubles down with: _Charming._

_Your standards are too low, babe._

The bus pulls to a stop at a light, and Prompto stops with it. He kind of wants to get even more real, because his standards aren’t that low, and he thinks what they have is pretty great. He figured Naught thought so too.

_Prom?_

Prompto stubbornly admits: _I think our talks are cool._

The telltale ellipses come and go. Prompto should shut up but adds: _It’s how I’d chat with my regular friends._ But maybe that’s bad, because it makes Naught sound abnormal. Maybe Naught should be _more_ , and saying ‘friends’ is a downgrade? And maybe he shouldn’t make it sound like he doesn’t have regular friends to talk with. 

_We couldn’t be friends in real life. But for what it is, I think our talks are cool too. I think you’re cool. Glad it’s mutual._

Prompto reads the message over twice. It gives him a foreboding feeling, but it’s also nice. He doesn’t understand why they couldn’t be friends. Maybe it’s naïve. Maybe it’s Naught’s way of saying he’s in a class so far above Prompto that it’d be absurd to try, and this tawdry dalliance with the broke lower class is just an online hobby. Prompto wasn’t _really_ suggesting they be friends anyway. He just sort of... felt like maybe they already were.

Maybe his standards are really low. Maybe he should quit while he’s ahead. His stop’s coming up. Against his better judgment, he asks, _Would you want to be friends?_

A large pause, then: _I mean... I wouldn’t say no to a dick pic._

Prompto has to shove a hand over his mouth to stifle the snort. He didn’t mean _just_ friends. Naught adds: _No pressure. Not asking. Just sayin’. Y’know, platonic stuff is great and all..._

_But you’ve heard I have an amazing penis._

_I bet you have the BEST penis._

_XD On the bus now, but maybe later._

_You just got upgraded to best friend. \o/_

And just like that, they’re cool.

* * *

He feels like he looks okay, which is saying something, because Prompto’s a mess nine days out of ten. He finger-combs a few blond locks into place and snaps a photo anyway, then wrinkles his nose and tries again—a few minutes later, he has a picture he’s decently proud of: just a regular shot of him out on the street, but sheepishly smiling. He sends it off to Naught and tucks his phone away. He just needs to grab a few groceries, but he’s only made it two blocks when the phone vibrates in his pocket.

_You’re crazy hot, y’know that?_

Absolutely not. But he loves hearing it anyway. He figured the photo was kind of _cute_ , nowhere near _hot_ , but he appreciates the complement. Maybe Naught really is ugly and can never get anyone in real life, so _his_ standards are low. Prompto sends back a heart emoji.

_I wanna buy you dinner._

On the few dates Prompto’s had, he’s either picked up the tab or split it. He’d love to have a real dinner date with Naught at some hilariously fancy restaurant and not worry about the check. He feels like Naught’s the kind of guy where Prompto could admit he didn’t understand a damn thing on the menu and they’d both just laugh about it.

Originally, he didn’t want to meet anyone off the internet. Especially not off a sugar daddy site. But he teases: _Sure thing, where should I meet you? ;)_

 _Haha._ Naught answers, and Prompto reads it in a sexy, dry tone. _Go where you want and send a shot of the bill. My treat._

_Just the bill?_

_Well... if you wanna include that cute mug, I won’t complain..._

Prompto laughs, and a few people look over at him, but he doesn’t care. He swipes back to the camera and takes another shot of just his smile. There’s too much sun, and the angle’s bad, but he sends it anyway. 

Naught sends back a bundle of roses emoticon and says: _Beautiful. Keep ‘em comin, babe!_

Back to the camera, Prompto crosses his eyes, because he can’t resist a ‘be careful what you wish for’ moment, but then the phone rings. The number makes him pause. He’s already stopped walking but wanders further away from the stoplight, tucking back against a building where it’s quieter, because he’ll actually need to answer it. And it might take a few minutes.

He begrudgingly tells Naught, _Brb, phone call._

_Oh? Is it your real friends?_

Prompto can feel himself frowning. Maybe Naught’s just joking. He’s probably joking. Prompto already texts him more than anyone else. They chat all the time. 

_It’s my parents._

_Eep. Bye._

_< 3_

The phone’s still ringing. Before Prompto hits the ‘talk’ button, he briefly wonders what his parents would say if they knew that the person he feels closest to now is a mysterious stranger throwing money at him. His cheeks are burning. 

He answers the phone normally. They have a good chat, though he cuts it short when his stomach growls. It’s his mother, but his dad takes over for a few minutes to say hi and catch up. Before Prompto hangs up, his mother says he sounds better than he has in ages: she’s happy for him.

* * *

It really is _normal_ pictures for a while. A couple a week. Then a couple a day. Then a few weeks have gone by and Prompto’s lifting up his shirt, holding them in his teeth, and snapping a shot of his chest, because he loves it when Naught tells him he’s beautiful. He takes a picture of the bathroom mirror when he’s just gotten out of the shower, wrapped conservatively in a towel but wet and a little flushed. Another day goes by, the weekend comes, and Prompto takes a picture of himself in bed. His boxers are still on. He can’t go _that_ far yet. But he actually tries posing, and he winds up with the sexiest shot he’s ever taken. 

He’s nervous, but he sends it. 

Naught answers in record time, _I fucking love you._

Prompto knows it’s a phrase. It’s just light-hearted gratitude for semi spank-bank material. But it makes his heart do a little flip anyway. Naught tells him, _I mean it. You’re so hot. You look like a supermodel. And not just because of your kick ass photography skillz._

Prompto giggle-snorts. _Yeah?_

_Yeah. I love it. I totally don’t wanna pressure you or anything, but feel free to send any and all that stuff my way._

Prompto fumbles through another. He lies on his stomach and takes one over his back, sure to stick his ass in the air, and it looks kind of stupid and he’s blushing like crazy in it, but he still sends it. Naught still thinks: _Amazing!_ The emojis start lining up. 

Feeling bold, Prompto types out, _What’re you gonna do with those pics? ;)_ But then he thinks that’s _too_ bold and deletes it. He hesitates on what to really say. He wants to keep the conversation going. It’s late on a Saturday night, and he can actually sleep in in the morning. Not that he’ll be up too late. Naught will probably pass out soon. But Prompto wants all his time until then. 

Prompto types: _Any chance I could get one back?_ And he knows the odds are slim, but he still sends it. 

When Naught takes too long to answer, Prompto nervously adds, _I won’t judge or anything. I’m just... super curious what you look like._

That still gets nothing. He tries: _If I know what you look like it’ll be easier to picture you with me. ;)_

Nothing. _Picture you touching me?_

_Prom. I want to._

Prompto sits up in bed, tense in anticipation. But Naught tells him: _Touch you, I mean. But I can’t. That’s why we’re in this weird situation._

It is weird. Naught’s definitely not how Prompto would picture a typical sugar daddy. Not that he would know. He’s probably not an ideal baby anyway. He’s still not completely sure why he risked signing up for the site. He doesn’t regret it. Naught says, _I’m sorry._

 _It’s okay._ It shouldn’t matter anyway.

He shouldn’t fall for his sugar daddy. He knows that. It’d be ridiculous to actually catch feelings. The conversations are fun, but they’re just that. Maybe they really can be a weird kind of friends. It won’t go any further. Not physically or emotionally. Prompto will probably keep sending dirty pictures anyway, because he’s weak. He wishes he could picture Naught getting off to them, but the image in his head is fuzzy. He has nothing to go on. 

Naught asks, _Hey, do you wanna play a game tonight?_

 _Yeah._ Prompto always does. He’s been late on homework assignments because of it, but he won’t tell Naught that. 

_Would it be weird to ask for voice chat?_

Prompto’s breath catches. Naught adds, _You can say no._

Prompto wasn’t going to say no. _Let’s do it._

He’s already scrambling across his room, turning on the console, and then tilting his TV so he can lie on his bed while he plays. He and Naught are already ‘friends’ on it—it’s been easier for Naught to check his library and gift him games. It’s not until the party invitation comes through that Prompto realizes they didn’t pick a game. 

He puts on the headset Naught bought him. He’s only used it for himself so far. It has better quality sound than his TV. And he used it once to play virtual blitzball with Tidus and Wakka, but that was a disaster—they seemed to forget he existed within ten minutes, and when Selphie logged on, she straight up couldn’t remember who he was even though they all went to high school together, and Prompto had to fake a phone call to get out of it.

It won’t be like that with Naught. He doesn’t know what it’ll be like with Naught. He doesn’t even know what Naught _sounds_ like. He practically has goosebumps whilst hitting ‘join.’

_“Hello?”_

“Shit.”

_“What?”_

“N... nothing...”

Naught sounds _hot_. If that’s even possible. Like, crazy hot. And sort of, every-so-slightly, vaguely familiar—like maybe he was on a commercial from Prompto’s childhood or something. For whatever reason, it summons a good image in Prompto’s head. Still a hazy image, but a good one. 

_“Prompto?”_

Prompto has to consciously make his mouth work again. “Right. Uh, that’s me. Naught?”

_“Did I say it right?”_

“What?”

_“Your name. Prompto. Is that the right pronunciation?”_

Honestly, Prompto wouldn’t care if it wasn’t. Naught could probably call him Hot Garbage and he’d laugh it off and they’d keep going. “Yeah, you got it right.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then: _“Wow, you even_ sound _cute.”_

Insanely flattered, Prompto tries to joke, “I am cute.”

Naught snorts. _“And humble.”_

“That’s me. Uh, you sound cute too.”

Another pause. _“...Thanks. ...So... what do you wanna play?”_

Prompto’s making a concerted effort to keep things light. And to be normal. He only manages one of those when he counters, “Your choice, Daddy.”

He immediately hates himself. He’s wildly grateful when Naught groans, _“Please don’t do that.”_

Prompto laughs back, “Thank the Six, I regret it too.”

_“Pfft.”_

“Um... we can play whatever you want, though.”

_“Anything in the library you wanna finish off...?”_

Prompto could kick himself. He should’ve prepared for this day. He’s forced to admit, “I don’t really... have any two player games, so...”

_“That’s okay. Go to the e-store and pick one you’d like. I’ll buy it for you.”_

“You don’t have to do that...”

_“Tell me a good joke and we’ll call it even.”_

Prompto’s grin is out of control. He flips over to the store page while he thinks. It would’ve been easier if Naught had just said that’s what he signed up for: buying someone things. But it doesn’t really seem like that’s what Naught wanted. Maybe Prompto doesn’t know what Naught wants. There are a few short indie games Prompto would kind of like to try. He doesn’t pick them.

He wants to find something long, something that’ll take forever to download and way longer to play, so they can do this again, and they can be on the line for a while just _talking_ before it even loads. 

“Justice Monsters X?”

 _“That is the single worst joke I’ve ever heard in my life.”_ While Prompto laughs, Naught adds, _“Great game, though. I already beat it. So I’ll kick your ass in it, as usual.”_

Prompto digs Naught kicking his ass. “What did Ifirit say when Shiva asked why he wouldn’t go near Ramus’ lightning?”

_“I don’t know.”_

“I-fear-it.”

There’s no laughter. Which is fine, because Prompto didn’t laugh when Tidus told him it either. 

_“You’re lucky you’re cute, Prom.”_

Prompto’s the one that laughs. A message pops up telling him that Justice Monsters X has been gifted to his account. Prompto says, “Thanks,” and guiltily admits, “It says it’ll take two hours to download, but...”

Naught yawns.

“I mean, if that’s too long—”

_“No, I’ll wait. I mean, if that’s okay with you.”_

“Sure.”

_“It’ll give you time to think of a better joke.”_

Prompto groans. Naught laughs, and it’s beautiful.


	3. Oh

They talk _all the time._ They text like crazy, but then games become a _thing_ , so voice chat does too, and then it evolves into phone calls for no reason in the middle of the day. Prompto talks to Naught while he edits his photos for school, and Naught actually _listens_ to his complaints about his teachers and sounds genuinely _interested_. It takes weeks, but eventually Naught whines about his own problems—though always either in too broad terms to mean anything or about minor minutia so small that it doesn’t give any hint towards the bigger picture. Prompto has no idea what Naught _does_ , but he gathers it’s important. Naught has two other friends, but they both work for him, and they’re on his ass all the time. Prompto can tell he loves them anyway. He just calls them beanpole and beefcake, then eventually slips up and mentions nicknames—Iggy and Gladio—but won’t give _full_ names. It seems ridiculous, but it might actually be smart, because Prompto’s desperate enough that he just might look up anyone he could that’s close to Naught just to see if he could piece together the clues. Unfortunately, personal nicknames are hard to research.

Naught calls Prompto everything from Prom to chocochick to _dude_. It’s hilarious to think of an older businessman dressed in an expensive suit, sitting in his high-up executive office, calling a college student _bro_. But Prompto grows increasingly convinced that Naught isn’t that much older. If older at all. Once, Prompto asks, “You’re not, like, sixteen, right?”

_“What?”_

“Like, are you some sneaky trust-fund brat that used his daddy’s credit card to get on that site and catfish students? And that’s why we can’t meet? Because you’re a kid?”

_“...You totally got me. I’m seven years old. A child prodigy at King’s Knight, actually. And computers. That’s how I fooled the site.”_

“Oh dear Six.”

_“Just kidding. I’m actually a police officer. And you just admitted to having an illicit affair with a minor. You’re under arrest.”_

“Illicit? I asked nicely!”

_“The picture you sent ten minutes ago confirms you’re not wearing any pants, Sir.”_

“I thought he was a hot older guy, officer, I swear! He made me take off those pants!”

_“He made you? Do you want to press charges?”_

“Yes. Please tie him up and deliver him to my house immediately.” Naught finally breaks, and while he’s laughing, Prompto corrects, “Unless he’s seven, in which case, you can keep him.”

_“He’s seven? I thought I was seven!”_

“How’d you get to be a cop at seven?”

_“A sugar daddy funded me.”_

“Oh, dude, that’s gross...” But Prompto’s laughing too. He’s completely lost the plot of their fictitious conversation. He’s lost the mood too, but he doesn’t bother pulling his pants back on, because with Naught around, there’s a good chance the mood will come back. 

Naught agrees, _“You’re right. I’m sorry.”_

“You better be.”

_“How can I make it up to you?”_

“Send me a pant-less pic too.”

There’s silence on the other end. Prompto lies back across the couch. The TV’s paused and has been for over an hour, because Naught called, and of course Prompto picked up. When Naught doesn’t say anything for conspicuously long, Prompto bites his bottom lip, worrying he’s gone too far. He really needs to stop pushing that. But then Naught resumes the game and teases, _“Could I just buy you a chocobo farm instead?”_

Prompto would _love_ his own chocobo. But, weirdly enough: “I’d kinda rather have the pic.”

A notification of a text comes through. Prompto clicks on it, keeping the phone line open. His whole body tenses when a picture starts loading. 

It’s a picture of bare feet. Just feet. Prompto doesn’t have a foot fetish.

But the gesture makes him smile. Naught tells him, _“That’s the most you’re getting.”_

“I’m totally gonna jerk off to this.”

_“Now who’s the gross one?”_

Prompto laughs. But he loves the useless picture. At least he can tell from the size that he’s not talking to a kid. They don’t look like particularly _old_ feet either, but then, Prompto’s not a great judge of feet. “Does this mean a dick pic’s on the table?”

_“What did I just say?”_

“Did I tell you I got a dick pic right before your first message?”

 _“You were talking to someone else...?”_ There’s a slight hint of hesitance, maybe upset, in Naught’s voice, that Prompto hadn’t thought of. 

He hurriedly corrects, “No, just you. We weren’t talking. Like, he just straight up sent the pic.”

He can almost sense Naught’s relief. _“Oh. Was it a good one?”_

Prompto snorts. He doesn’t justify that with an answer. But he does ask, since the subject’s been broached, “Do you, uh... you don’t have any other... whatevers... do you?” Somehow, he just can’t say _sugar babies_ , because it doesn’t even seem like that’s what he is anymore. 

Naught doesn’t seem to need clarifying. He soundly confirms: _“No, just you.”_

Prompto smiles up at the ceiling.

_“So... about those dick pics...”_

“Sorry, I’m on probation. Can’t risk sending illicit photos while that cop’s around.”

Naught groans, and Prompto finally turns off the TV, because there’s better lighting in the bedroom for those kind of pictures.

* * *

Prompto moans out a strangled form of _Naught_ , only to bite it back and swallow that down, because he knows it’s not his boyfriend’s real name. He knows Naught’s not even his real _boyfriend_ , but it feels like it, and in the moment, Prompto’s lost in the fantasy. One hand tightens around the phone, fingers digging into the sides, while the other pumps along his aching cock. He tries to slow down, because he’s getting close, but Naught breathlessly tells him, _“Faster.”_

Prompto obeys. There’s no way for Naught to know, but Prompto behaves for him anyway—Prompto thrusts his hips off the bed and into his own grip at a breakneck pace. He closes his eyes and pretends it’s someone else touching him, even though he doesn’t know what that someone looks like. He fantasizes anyway. He concentrates on the sound of Naught breathing, just as laboured as him. He feels like he’s going to burst—he’s so much _harder_ than he usually gets when jacking off. This is so much more _thrilling._ He fucks his hand and rasps, “Naught, say something...”

 _“You sound so hot, Prom...”_ Prompto needs _more_. Naught’s been guiding him through it, and he wants more of that—instructions, orders, because he’s too turned on to guide himself. _“I bet you look even hotter... you have no idea how bad I want to see you like this...”_

The feeling’s so mutual. Prompto just doesn’t have the wherewithal to say it. He wonders how hard Naught is, and if Naught’s close like him. He wonders if Naught thinks of him when masturbating, and how many times he’s gotten off to Prompto’s pictures. He’d send another, but that would involve taking the phone away from his ear, and he loves hearing Naught’s voice too much. Prompto makes a broken noise, essentially begging. “I’m gonna—”

_“Do it, babe... I wanna hear you come...”_

Prompto practically _screams_. He arches off the bed, toes curling with the force of his orgasm. He comes so hard that a few drops splatter the underside of his chin. He knows he’ll have gotten it on the sheets. The lights are off, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned them on in the morning to find seed on the ceiling. He feels so _good_.

He feels amazing through the entire experience, then just as good in the afterglow, when he’s slumping back down, breathing hard and sweating. He suddenly feels way too damp; he can feel the sheets sticking to him. But he doesn’t want to move. He feels spent and dizzy, boneless and weightless. Naught’s still panting on the other line. _“Prompto...”_

He loves the way Naught says his name. He wishes he could return the favour. When he can manage to form the syllables, he asks, “You still going?”

_“Yeah... but I’m close... you make me so hard, baby...”_

“I wish I was there,” Prompto mutters. He feels too satisfied to care about the rules of the game. “I wish I was touching you... running my hands through your... blond hair?”

Naught chuckles. _“Not even close.”_

“Brown hair,” Prompto tries again, grinning hard. “Then I’d kiss your big, beautiful lips, and lick down your chin—which would be easy, because you don’t have a beard?”

Naught laughs again, but that wonderful, giddy sort of laughter that sometimes crops up in sex, where it’s clear he’s still turned on. He just feels _good_. Prompto wants to be the one doing that to him. 

“I’d kiss all the way down your stomach, dip my tongue into your belly button, nose down the—red?—hair there? And I’d nuzzle into your dick... you said you had a dick, right?”

_“I repeat: I am crazy hard right now. Even though you’re being very sneaky.”_

Prompto closes his eyes again and pictures at least that much. He hums, “I’d suck your big, fat cock into my mouth, and swallow you right down to the root...”

_“Fuck...”_

“And you could fuck my mouth as much as you wanted, until I’d get hard again and I’d really just need to feel you inside my ass...”

Naught cuts off. Prompto soaks in the shattered cry, trying to commit the sound to memory, _loving_ it. He can tell Naught’s come too. There’s just heavy breathing for a long while. Neither of them hang up. 

Eventually, Prompto quietly admits, “I really wanna see you.”

There’s a long pause. It could just be Naught recovering. Then: _“I know, babe. But I just... can’t.”_

Prompto knows. His head’s still fogged up. He whines, “I’ll do that crazy sex stuff for you in person... seriously, I’ll do whatever you want...”

Naught sighs. Prompto thinks he’s breaking Naught down. 

_“I’ll think about it.”_

Prompto’s eyes flutter open. He hadn’t actually expected that. “Seriously?”

_“G’night, Prom. Thanks for tonight.”_

“Yeah... you too.”

The line goes dead. Prompto’s sticky and gross but glowing.

* * *

He’s on the bus coming home when it happens. A text comes through that just says _Tonight?_

 _Sure,_ Prompto agrees, because he _always_ agrees, no matter what else he’s supposed to be doing. _Game? Movie?_

_No, like... if you really wanna meet._

Prompto’s heart nearly thumps right out of his chest. All he’s heard is _no_. And still no reason. He wants to spam Naught with capitol letters and emojis. They wouldn’t be enough to really convey his sense of anticipation.

_But there are rules._

Prompto swallows. He can handle that. _Okay... what rules? I’ll wear whatever you want._

 _No, like... I’ll go to your place. I’ll just show up; we can’t meet anywhere. You can’t tell anyone I was there. If you_ really _behave, I’ll have you brought to my place next time._

Next time. Prompto’s head is swimming. He’s ravenous. Still excited. But there is a _tiny_ sliver of anxious anticipation, because that’s _so_ weird. _You’re not a serial killer, are you?_

_Pfft, fair. I promise I’m not. I’m a cop, remember?_

That was weeks ago. But Prompto does remember. It totally sounds like Naught is a serial killer. But it’d be a really weird method to give tens of thousands of dollars to someone before killing them. And Prompto’s smitten enough to take the risk. 

_Okay. I’ll clean up and everything. I’ll send the address._

_I’ve sent stuff to your address_

_Oh yeah... Thanks for the Heartless plushie btw, I love it!_

_Np. Look, just..._

Ellipses bubble on and off the screen. It’s two blocks before Naught finishes, _When you see me, just try not to judge, okay?_

He must be _super_ ugly. It’s the only explanation. Maybe Prompto’s being naïve, but the thought doesn’t deter him. He feels like he could get through it, no matter how much he’d have to break down his personal beauty standards. He thinks he could love Naught no matter what. 

_And again, don’t tell anyone._

_Admit I’m gonna meet a strange probably-serial-killer mystery man off the internet? Yeah I’m good thanks._

_Lol <3_

Naught doesn’t say anything after that, but Prompto’s almost at his stop. He pockets his phone and gets to his feet, suddenly full of butterflies.

* * *

He’s nervous as hell. 

He’s cleaned the house top to bottom at least twice. It’s cleaner than it’s even been, including the times right before his parents’ visits and the day he rented it. His games are even sorted into alphabetical order, though Naught’s admitted his own bedroom’s a mess.

Prompto did some of it in lingerie. He has a few different sets of fancy, frilly things, lacy and revealing, all bought by Naught. Prompto’s worn a few in impromptu photoshoots, specifically for Naught. Then he strips down to nothing and wonders if that’s better, but that seems _crazy_ , so he throws clothes back on. Casual clothes. Jeans and a sleeveless black shirt. He doesn’t want to come off too desperate, even though he’s desperate. He doesn’t know how he wants to come off. He thinks Naught would want casual clothes, because sometimes Naught’s so _casual_ , but this feels like a huge event: a gala or a ball where Prompto has to catch the eye of the best suitor. 

By the time the door rings, he’s still on edge from being ready too long and yet not ready at all. He scrambles to answer it, then slides to a halt and tries to catch his breath before he opens it. He sucks in a deep breath. Then he pulls back the latch and slowly twists the handle. 

He pulls the door open. The man on the other side looks up. He’s got a hoodie pulled over his head and giant, goofy sunglasses. Around that, he’s not ugly. Just shady. Literally shady. Prompto opens his mouth, but no words come out. 

He steps back on auto-pilot. The-man-that-must-be-Naught steps in around him and says, “Thanks.” That’s Naught’s voice. Prompto shuts the door again. 

Naught turns around. They just sort of look at one another. Then Naught sighs and takes off his sunglasses. He pulls the hoodie down and offers Prompto a sheepish smile. Prompto _stares_. 

He blurts, “Fuck,” because Naught’s _hot._ Crazy hot. Wildly hot. Like, the hottest person Prompto’s ever seen in real life hot. Maybe even in magazines. And sort of familiar. Then something clicks, and Prompto pales. 

“P... you’re the... pr...”

Naught lifts a hand like offering a pitiful wave. No, _Prince Noctis_ lifts a hand. Suddenly Prompto knows where he heard Naught’s voice before, even though he doesn’t watch the news that often. He’s still heard royal addresses before. 

“So...” Noctis reaches a hand back and ruffles through his jet-black hair. It’s a little messy, not as styled as Prompto’s. He looks about Prompto’s age. If Prompto remembers correctly, he _is_ Prompto’s age. He’s around the same height, the same build, except maybe ever so _slightly_ broader across the shoulders. “I’m not a serial killer. I just don’t want to drag you into the papers. Or have to deal with the council.”

“The council,” Prompto hollowly repeats. He never thought about how royalty dated before. But it makes sense that the council would want to put forth _proper_ suitors. There’s no way the crown prince is supposed to be online dating. _Especially_ on sugar daddy sites. No wander all of his information has just been obvious aliases. But now it makes sense why a distant, monetary relationship might be easier on Noctis. 

“I did try regular online dating, y’know,” Noctis mutters, like reading Prompto’s mind. “I just wasn’t digging any of the people the council threw at me. But the other dating sites all wanted to meet up, and I didn’t want a scandal, so I just thought... I dunno. I figured they’d come at me for money anyway, might as well start with that up front and not even bother getting emotionally attached...”

Prompto’s totally emotionally attached. “Holy shit. I beat _the prince_ at Justice Monsters X.”

Noctis frowns. “Hey, only like three times! I beat you way more.”

“I didn’t even say ‘Your Highness’ once!”

The smile returns, and Noctis shrugs. “Great. That’s what I wanted.”

“And you... you’re totally hot!”

“Thanks.” The grin grows broader, only enhancing Noctis’ charm. “You’re not bad yourself. I mean, I already knew that, but you look great in person.”

Prompto’s entire face turns red. “I jerked off for the prince...”

“Yeah, that was a highlight for sure.”

“Oh dear Six...”

“On the bright side, I’m not seven.”

Prompto almost pushes him. But then Prompto remembers he’s dealing with _the prince_ and has to stop being so colloquial. Except Noctis is grinning at him like nothing’s changed. The longer Prompto stares, the more of Noctis’ confidence seems to ebb away. Then he asks almost tentatively, “So... Can I stay, or...?”

“Forever?” Prompto accidentally squeaks.

Noctis laughs. “I mean, if you’re offering...”

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I meant. Uh. Do you wanna... play a game, or...?”

“Yeah, let’s do that.”

Noctis’ smile is dizzying. Prompto’s gotten too close to the sun, and it’s _so_ worth the burn.

* * *

Neither of them is playing their best. Prompto’s seen Noctis do better, and Prompto’s totally distracted. In his defense, he has the most amazing person sitting next to him. Noctis is somehow even cooler in person. He’s kind of a mess. But a _cool_ mess. He has it together more than Prompto does. One hour rolls into two, they go through a bag of chips Prompto bought for the occasion, and eventually, it’s just like hanging out with any normal friend, except a super hot friend, and when Noctis groans after losing the silver cup, all Prompto can think of is the sound he makes when he comes. 

They start up the gold cup, Prompto just a little behind Noctis at the start line, and Prompto pauses the game. Noctis immediately looks over. Prompto doesn’t. He stares at the screen, listening to the blaring metal soundtrack, and shakily mutters, “Naught... Uh, Noct—Can I call you that?”

A hand lands on his thigh. Prompto risks glancing over. Then Noctis is in his face, a hand’s curling under his chin, tilting him up, and Prompto opens wide for Noctis’ tongue. It slides right in, going deep, licking him out—it’s a hot, wet masterpiece of a first kiss. It goes on until Prompto’s actually breathless, and then Noctis parts them just enough to mumble, “Sorry, I... couldn’t resist...”

Prompto dares to reach over. His fingers slide through Noctis’ dark hair, and it’s every bit as soft as he thought it would be. He pulls Noctis back towards him. They kiss again, but this time, Prompto worms his way into Noctis’ mouth and tastes what he can. Noctis complies for a few seconds before turning the tides, and they wind up fighting for it, both of them pressing hard into each other and tilting for new angles. Prompto lets both hands relocate to Noctis’ shoulders and roam freely from there—he wraps around Noctis’ back and claws at Noctis’ black shirt. One of Noctis’ hands makes it down to Prompto’s waist, teasing under his shirt. 

Prompto nods against Noctis’ mouth. He means to give permission for anything and everything. Technically, it’s the first time they’ve touched each other, and it’s all new and marvelous, but it doesn’t _feel_ like the first, because Prompto’s had Noctis’ voice in his ear so many times. He’s fallen asleep to Noctis’ breathing more times than he could count. He wonders vaguely if Noctis had to sneak out to meet him or if there are dozens of Crownsguards outside his apartment, and then he decides he doesn’t care, because either way, he gets _Noctis._ He’s _so_ lucky. 

He whines when Noctis’ hand slips beneath his shirt. Noctis’ skin is warm, smooth, soft, and Noctis traces his side, back and forth, just toying with him. Prompto’s already getting hard. He distantly hears his controller clattering to the floor but he can’t be bothered to fetch it. He keeps trying to turn more into Noctis, trying to get the best angle to rut against him. Finally, Prompto gets one leg wedged up against the back of the couch and the other over Noctis’ thigh. Noctis pulls him so close that it’s a wonder he doesn’t bruise. He knows he’s humping the prince like a dog but can’t stop himself. Noctis is humping him back. The two of them grind together like horny teenagers that haven’t gotten off in months, even though Noctis got Prompto off last night. 

Prompto’s going to do it again. He’s going to come in his pants. Noctis is _so_ hot. It’s unbelievable. He kisses like a dream. His hands are everywhere, but so are Prompto’s; he can’t get enough of Noctis’ body. He loves everything he touches. He loves _Noctis_. The realization hits him like a lightning bolt, and he just keeps going anyway. 

He tries to warn Noctis, tries to gasp into his mouth, “Noct, I’m gonna—”

“ _Prompto_ —”

All Prompto manages is a broken moan, and then he’s exploding, and it feels so incredibly amazing that he can’t even be embarrassed at first. His mind just goes completely blank. The orgasm’s overwhelming. Noctis is overwhelming. Without thinking, Prompto reaches down and closes his hand around the thick bulge in Noctis’ pants—he kneads that bump until Noctis is shuddering in his arms. Noctis buries his face in Prompto’s shoulder and comes too. Prompto can feel the growing dampness beneath his palm. It makes him shudder and turns him on. He can’t believe he did that. 

As the shame creeps up on him, he mumbles, “I, uh... normally last longer than that.”

Noctis snorts. He pulls back enough to look into Prompto’s eyes. They’re both breathing just as hard, both obviously wrecked—Noctis’ hair is even worse than before, and Prompto’s is probably ruined. His underwear and jeans are ruined. They’ll have to run Noctis’ through the wash before he can go home. Which means he’ll have to be pant-less for Prompto’s amusement. It feels like the best kind of karma. 

Looking for the bright side, Prompto notes, “At least we didn’t ruin the couch.”

Noctis glances down at the old mustard-yellow cushions. He tries, “Can I get you naked on it if I promise to buy you a new one?”

Prompto laughs. He shoves Noctis’ chest before he can stop himself. Noctis shoves him back, and Prompto grabs at him, but winds up pulling him into a crushing hug because he’s so warm and Prompto’s staring to cool down. 

Noctis pats his back and mutters by his ear, “This is awesome.”

“Mm. I know, right?”

“When I signed up, I just... I dunno. I figured I’d have an outlet... I never thought I’d fall so hard.”

Prompto tries to hold back his smile but knows he’s failing. He can feel his cheeks dimpling with it. At least Noctis can’t see his blush. He admits, “I fell pretty hard too.”

Noctis pushes him back, just for another kiss. Prompto surrenders to it, feeling gooey and pliant.

When they part, Prompto double checks, “So... I can keep seeing you, then? Even though you’re even more out of my league than I thought?”

“Have you seen your own pictures? You could _own_ the league.”

It’s cheesy and great and Prompto laughs too loudly. Grinning broadly, Noctis tells him, “I mean... we’ll definitely have to be careful, at least until we’re ready to go official, but... yeah.” Prompto can’t imagine ever being _officially_ with a prince. It makes him unbelievably happy that Noctis would even consider that. 

“You’re gonna make me swoon, dude.”

Noctis pecks Prompto’s nose. Then he settles back in the couch and un-pauses the game. Their cars go shooting off, and they chase each other down, until it’s too gross to be in sticky pants and Prompto has to go throw their clothes in the wash, leading to round two.


End file.
